A Little Bit of Patience
by Sicaria Snape
Summary: Patience is a Virtue


                'Everything in my life is a ritual,' he thought to himself as he removed first the mask, which sat in its own mahogany box.  It was another piece of the part he had to be prepared to play, always.  

                The gloves went into the second drawer from the top, on the upper left side.  Right hand on top of the left.  It was the only drawer that locked.

                His ceremonial robe went into the closet, with the rest of his robes, as if it wasn't any different from his every day attire.  Black robe against row upon row of black robes.  He hung the robe he had been wearing on a hook, and stowed it in the closet.  It stared back at him, daring him to call it different.  

                He shut the door.

                'This can't last much longer,' he told himself.  Both sides were building up to a climax.  Each side was getting closer and closer to reaching their goal.  There were times when he stood in the circle of the chosen, those special to Lord Voldemort, that he thought it was possible Voldemort would come through the victor.  How many more were there like him?  A stain on humanity.  A man in limbo.  He was unable to dedicate himself wholly to one cause, and it was the root of his greatest anguish.  What wouldn't he give to put his complete concentration on the Order?  What wouldn't he do to be able to give Dumbledore his body, mind, and soul?  

                Tonight had been a trial for him.  Voldemort demanded answers to his questions.  What was Dumbledore doing now?  What were his plans?  What was the Order doing without Black?  

                And finally, "The boy, Snape, how is the Potter boy?" he had asked him mock compassion.  The others in the circle chuckled appreciatively.  Snape, on his knees before his lord, grimaced.  

                "As annoying and _alive_ as ever, My Lord, I regret to inform you," Snape lied, simpering on his hands and knees.

                "What are you doing to rectify this situation, Snape?" he asked icily, leaning toward Snape.  Severus repressed a shudder.

                "With all due respect, my lord, I cannot simply murder him in the headquarters of the Order, as much as that would give me great pleasure."

                Lord Voldemort chuckled, causing everyone around Severus to do so.  Hardly daring to hope, Snape believed that this was the end of his interrogation.  With a few more evasive answers about Dumbledore, he was allowed to apparate back to the Hogwarts grounds.  Unfortunately, there had been something Lord Voldemort had said that gnawed and twisted inside him.

                Black.

                Snape's bitterest enemy was gone from the Order.

                Forever.

                Severus Snape was not a man to regret his scoldings, mockings, or tormentings.  However, there was a significant loss that he felt acutely now.  Almost as if he had lost a friend.

                Snorting derisively at himself, he stumbled to his sofa and sprawled over it, kicking off his boots.  'What wouldn't I give to see Voldemort thrown down?' he thought, as he groped for his stack of papers on the stand behind him.  

                No matter how hard he tried to deny it, the fact remained that Sirius Black had been vital to the Order of the Phoenix.  Perhaps he wasn't so much so lately, but there was one area that he was quite remarkable in.  Now that he was gone, the questioned remained; who would control Harry Potter?

                'That boy,' Snape thought as he shuffled through his papers, 'is getting harder to handle by the day.'

                He had heard about the temper tantrum he had thrown in Dumbledore's office, and though Snape must allow that everyone has their own way of handling grief, the fact remained that Potter threw a temper tantrum in Dumbledore's office, lead a troop of students off to save Sirius and fight Voldemort, and could have gotten a lot more people killed.

                It had been Mr. Weasley who had stopped him on his way from one of the meetings of the Order with his concerns.

                "No one wants to say it, of course," Arthur had told him behind closed and warded doors, "but we all know it's Harry's foolhardiness that got Sirius killed."

                "Arthur," Snape had said without his customary sneer, "perhaps this is just the thing to sober him up."

                "It's unfortunate it took the death of his godfather to stop him from rushing blindly into danger, Severus," Arthur said sadly.  "He's had so much to deal with in his life."

                "If you're attempting to ask me to go easy on the boy after this adventure of his, you will find me hard to convince.  Besides, I don't believe he signed up for my N.E.W.T. level potions class."

                "You've gotten your class list then?" he had asked on their way out of the kitchen.

                "No, but it's intuition, Arthur.  Good evening," Snape bowed his way out of the Order's headquarters without waiting for Arthur to say another word.

                Now that he was back in his own rooms, he was finally able to look at his class list for the coming year.  He glanced through the first through fifth years without really noticing anything, and his gaze settled on his seventh year Gryffindor class.

                "Hermione Granger," he murmured aloud.  The girl was a genius when it came to classes, less so socially, it was his opinion, but nevertheless, he couldn't help feeling some satisfaction that she had decided to continue with potions.

                Neville Longbottom was another surprise for Severus.  His only conclusion was that Neville wanted to go into Auror training.  He wished the boy luck, however much begrudgingly, because he did try.

                "Harry Potter," Snape said with some surprise.  Naturally he would want to be an Auror as well, and with Harry Potter's name on the list it wasn't surprising that 'Weasley, Ron' showed up then as well.

                Severus threw the paper aside in disgust.  

                Nothing had changed.  This new year would be like the last.  

                Snape closed his eyes.  'Only for a moment,' he told himself.  He didn't want to depress himself further by looking at the Slytherin class list.  

                That was how he managed to be late getting to Grimmauld Place the next morning.

                Snape strode into the kitchen the next morning and looked around.

                It was empty except for Hermione Granger.

                "Where is everyone?" Snape asked, sitting down with a thud on a stool.

                "In bed…?" Hermione questioned, thinking this was a trick.  She was still in her robe, and had barely woken up herself.  A mug filled with tea sat in-between her hands.

                "In bed?" Snape growled, looking away from Hermione.  "I risk my neck last night, and they can't even be on time to their own meeting?"

                "Professor, I don't think that's the case," Hermione started, but the dark look from her potions professor stopped her momentarily.

                "What precisely is the case?" Snape asked, leaning across the table.

                "'The case' as you put it, is that you missed the letter they sent you last night, and the meeting has been bumped back two hours, due to an incident at the Ministry last night."

                Snape leaned across the table even further.  "What happened?"

                "I'm not sure," Hermione said, clutching at the fabric on the front of her robe.  "They don't tell me too much, you know, and…and…_please_ stop leaning in like that, Professor.  I know you don't mean anything by it, but it's like you're leching at me or something.  I can't stand it."

                Professor Snape shot backwards, almost knocking himself off his stool.  "Let me assure you, Miss Granger, I am not leching at you."

                "Well, you'll have to excuse me, Professor," Hermione said with a strain in her voice.  "But after last year, I'm a little more sensitive to people of the male persuasion."  Tears were glistening in her eyes as she clutched her mug and turned away from him.

                Snape sat still, ramrod straight on his stool.  How could he have been so stupid?  Everyone knew about Lucius, everyone knew what he had done to Hermione.  It was that fault of his, that trip by him that had landed him in Azkaban.  

                Not all the wizard gold could save a man after he raped a minor.

                Hermione had never talked about it, and she hadn't wanted anyone except Dumbledore at her trial.  He doubted she had even told Ron or Harry about the situation, and he wondered how long she would be able to keep up appearances as well as she had been.

                "I'm sorry, Miss Granger," Snape said, as politely as he could manage.  "I'm tired this morning, and apparently I am not thinking properly either."

                "It's all right," Hermione nodded, as she rinsed out her mug.

                "Are you, erm, excited about the new term?" Snape asked, attempting to make up for his terrible blunder before.  Something was wrong with him this morning.  He cared too much.

                Hermione smiled as she puttered around the kitchen getting things ready for everyone's breakfast.

                "What is it?" Snape snapped, his old personality firmly back at the helm.

                "I've never seen you attempt to make small talk before," Hermione said, and then looked shocked.  "I'm sorry, sir, I wasn't laughing at you."

                Snape shrugged it off.  They were both acting oddly this morning.  It was all too familiar.  It wasn't right.

                Hermione took out her wand and lit a small fire in the massive fireplace.

                "Everyone will want coffee," Hermione explained away the fire in August.

                "Of course," Snape said.  "I could use a cup myself."

                "Do you take tea?" Hermione asked, her hands shaking a little from being alone with her potions master, not to mention talking amiably with him.  'I hope I don't screw this up,' Hermione thought to herself.  She had always wanted to be on his good side.  The school girl in her wanted to please all her teachers, not just some, and Professor Snape had made that increasingly difficult the past few years.

                "Yes, I do," Snape said, reaching up to rub his temples.  He had the beginnings of a headache, and the closed quarters of the kitchen didn't allow for too much air to move around.

                "You can have the last of what I made," Hermione offered, pouring the remaining tea into a cup.  "Milk?  Sugar?" she asked a bit too brightly.

                "Neither," Snape said, and then, "Thank you, Miss Granger," when Hermione brought him the cup.

                He took a sip, and then asked, "Am I making you nervous, Miss Granger?  I can wait in library, if you wish."

                "Oh!  No, no," said Hermione, blushing a bit.  "It's not that at all.  Please, don't worry."

                And Snape, attributing the blush to the heat, paid no more attention to Hermione's shaking hands or lip biting.  

                Snape looked around the dirty, old kitchen, and spied a box in the corner that he hadn't seen on his previous visit.

                "What's in there?" he asked, nodding in the boxes direction.

                "Things from the Burrow that Ron and Ginny missed," Hermione answered.  "You know, cards, a chess board, a certain skirt…," Hermione trailed off.

                "All Ron's things, I see," Snape smirked.

                Hermione held back a laugh.  If Ron found out she had been making fun of him with their potions master, she would never hear the end of it.  She could almost hear his indignant cries of, 'What a brown noser!' as she sat in the musty kitchen.

                "Do you play chess?" Hermione asked finally, taking her mind from Ron in a skirt.

                "Yes, I do," Snape said.  "I haven't played in quite some time, though."

                "I'm a beginner," Hermione said.  "Harry just taught me a year or so ago.  I don't have much time to play.  I'm not very good."

                Catching on to her hint, Snape asked, "Would you like to play a game or two?"

                "Yes!" Hermione said, shooting out of her chair and to the chessboard.  When she brought it back, she said, "I've always preferred regular Muggle chess myself, but Ron loves his wizard chess."

                Hermione and Snape watched the pieces get themselves ready on the board.  

                It was getting awfully warm in the kitchen, and finally Snape found himself pressed to ask, "Would you mind if I removed my robe and coat, Miss Granger?"

                Hermione thought about this for a moment, and then said, "Not if you would mind me removing my robe."

                Snape nodded, and they took off the offending pieces of clothing.

                "It's too warm in here," Hermione said, as they turned back to the game.  "But if the fire doesn't start early, it won't be warm enough in time for breakfast.  We just suffer through the hot months in the kitchen."

                They began to play.  After a few moves on both their parts, Snape unbuttoned the first three buttons on his shirt; the one at his neck, and then the first two on his chest.  Hermione didn't seem to mind, and he didn't feel as awkward as he thought he might doing it.

                Both of them had pulled their hair back off their faces before starting the game, and without her hair to play with, Hermione fiddled with the strap of her nightshirt, which had in a previous life been a rather cool, trendy tank top.  Naturally, Hermione had picked it up from a thrift store two years after it went out of style, but she didn't mind.  She was using it to sleep in after all.  Who would see her in it besides her close friends and family?

                "Your turn," Hermione said, drawing Snape's attention away from the white piece of fabric she had been weaving between her fingers.

                Mentally shaking himself out of his bout of stares, Snape took his turn, and it was while they were in the middle of Hermione's next turn, and critical move, that they heard the crash.

                "Someone's awake," Hermione said, looking at the ceiling.  They had removed Mrs. Black's portrait ages ago, so no scream was followed by the clatter.

                "Finish your turn," Snape admonished, nodding toward the board.  The makeshift paper fan Hermione had charmed to waft air at them slowed down, so Snape prodded it with his wand.  

                "I never did like wand magic much," he said, keeping his eye on the fan which was now trying to attack his head.

                "I'll do it," Hermione said, as she moved her piece.  The fan resumed its normal pattern, but Snape didn't take his turn.

                "Show me how it goes," he said, frustrated with himself, and a bit annoyed at asking a student of his to show him something he should have learned ages ago.  "I want to get this down."

                "It's the standard Charms hand motion," Hermione explained, leaning across the table a bit.  It was while they were close together, Hermione's hand on her Professor's to direct his wand, that Mrs. Weasley and Ginny walked into the kitchen.

                "Oh!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, looking from Professor Snape to Hermione, and then at the other chairs which were occupying some of their clothes.  Her gaze drifted back to Snape's.  "Didn't you get the message?"

                "Apparently not," Snape answered.  His face was flushed at the thought of what Mrs. Weasley was assuming.  

                "Well," said Mrs. Weasley, trying to remove the awkward tension in the room.  "I should get breakfast on."

                "Hermione?" Ginny asked.  "Could I talk to you for a second?  I've been looking all over for you," she lied unconvincingly.  Inwardly, Hermione cringed.  What must Professor Snape be thinking now?

                'What must Miss Granger be thinking of me now?' he asked himself, as Molly bustled around the kitchen.  'What I wouldn't give to know.'


End file.
